


Limbo

by Mother_North



Series: Obscure [3]
Category: Figure Skating RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Ambiguity, Drama, Emotional, Friendship, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Memories, Psychology, Reminiscing, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 03:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14276382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_North/pseuds/Mother_North
Summary: Boyang sneaked into the subway car, taking an inconspicuous seat at the back and humping his shoulders. He was lulled by the monotone clash of its wheels and his mind started sinking into a more relaxed state, his thoughts travelling back, drifting to the night when he had seen Yuzuru for the first time…Of reminiscences and unhealthy obsession and of a friendship found and a life lost.





	Limbo

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to “Pandemonium” and the next installment of the “Obscure” series. Dark topics as well as references to violence and suicide are present, so, please, be warned. Usual RPF disclaimer applies to this work of fiction in full and it is not meant to offend anyone. I would like to thank all of you for your feedback and commenting, which made me consider delving into this AU deeper and explore it a bit more. So, here comes the result — the Limbo.  
> Additional disclaimer:  
> 1\. This work is absolute, total, complete FICTION, where all of the events take place in ALTERNATE universe (not even our beloved one, guys ;)) and in which MAJOR (more like major x 10) OOC is present.  
> 2\. Tags are there for a reason and the story explores dark topics and disturbing situations, sometimes getting pretty nasty…It is YOUR sacred right as a reader not to like it, not to start reading it or to ditch reading it anytime you feel like it and it is MY sacred right as an author not to censure it, not to compromise it and to mold it in whatever way I feel to.  
> 3\. I APOLOGIZE in advance if the “Obscure” series as a whole or this story in particular have somehow upset you!

**

 _From the day you arrived_  
_I've remained by your side_  
_In chains, entombed._  
_Placed inside, safe and sound_  
_Shapes and colors are all I see._

 _On the day you arrived_  
_I became your device_  
_To lay and soothe._  
_Placed inside, safe and sound_  
_Shapes and colors are all I see_  
_Shades of colors are all I feel…_

_— Deftones, “Entombed”_

**

Dirty pavement was beneath his feet and starry sky was above his head. Boyang went out of a noisy stuffed club, his lungs desperately in need of some oxygen. It wasn’t late, yet he felt really tired, his average “standard” for the night already half reached. Shirt was clinging to his sweaty back displeasingly and the only thing he really wanted was a hot, refreshing shower and to get rid of a sour taste in his dry mouth. Boyang remembered of the guy who was waiting for his return at the bar counter but didn’t even seriously consider coming back to him. It felt like it was enough or _way too much_ , to be exact.

He drew a deep breath and started walking away when he saw a familiar chunking figure approaching him swiftly. Boyang regretted bitterly that there was no corner around to hide behind. The man leveled with him in less than five minutes and Boyang knew what this very man needed even before the big guy opened his thick-lipped mouth to speak.

“Where is _he_?” Jacque was breathing heavily and he reeked of cheap alcohol. He looked quite desperate. Boyang wondered whether he was hopeless enough to fall down to his knees and beg. He sighed exasperatingly.

“I’ve told you a thousand times already. I do not know where _he_ lives, I do not have _his_ phone number, I haven’t seen _him_ for about a month. And lastly— would you, please, just _fuck off_.”

Boyang began walking again but Jacque blocked his way. The poor guy was fuming and looked as if he might explode any minute. He reached into the pocket of his worn denim jacket and Boyang tensed.  

“Here, take it! Three fucking hundreds! Tell me _his_ address. I need to see the _little fucker_ …”

“You are pretty slow, aren’t you, Jacque? I shall _never_ tell you where he lives. And you can leave your money to yourself, I do not need them. But I am kind enough to give you one good piece of advice and it’s absolutely free: you take these three hundred bucks of yours and move your fat ass back to the club where you buy _another_ little fucker to give you a decent blowjob, ok?”

It didn’t seem that Jacque was going to back down, though, veins on his massive neck bloated and his protruding eyes blood-shot. Boyang braced himself for a blow, yet there was only a guttural laughter that followed. 

“If you had ever fucked _him_ , just once, you wouldn’t ever want to fuck anyone else, believe me.”

Boyang rolled his eyes, a witty remark ready, yet the expression on Jacque’s face made him bite his tongue — the man looked _devastated_ , seeming smaller straight away: his broad shoulders deflating wrenchingly and his eyes dimmed. Boyang noticed that his flannel shirt looked grubby and the shaggy stubble on his blowzy cheeks, his whole appearance was screaming of its owner miserable daily existence.

In any event, Boyang couldn’t help him.

“Go back home, Jacque.” His voice sounded milder than he intended it to.

“Tell _him_ that I simply want to talk…That I think of _him_ still…Please.”

The barely audible husky _please_ made Boyang’s nails dig into his palms. He never imagined seeing Jacque so attackable. What in the world, could he possibly do but simply observe yet one more life getting crumbled..?

Jacque turned away slowly and walked down the badly lit street, his legs moving in a somnambulant manner, looking lost. Boyang watched steadily as his bulky back was dissolving into the night, until the man was completely gone. Shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, the Chinese headed home and a sudden coldness that was seeping through his thin leather jacket was making him speed up his steps considerably.

**

Boyang was among the few, who actually sincerely loved subway. He liked its dusty electrified air, the shrilly sounds of the trains and being swallowed by swarms of people, the faceless mass curling here and there as some kind of an unknown sluggish beast. He found himself feeling at ease, being squeezed by the numerous bodies around, moving along with them as if getting carried by a huge tidal wave; he was breathing the same air _with_ all of these strangers and it often made inscrutable gearwheels in his head roll faster, different types of never-ending thoughts assaulting him from all sides.

Boyang closed his eyelids imagining Jacque entering his lonely-looking lowly flat and throwing himself facedown onto his squeaky old coach, hoping for a dreamless sleep to become a remedy from his sickly _obsession_. Boyang was ready to bet that Yuzuru had never been at Jacque’s place. He refused visiting his client’s apartments, always preferring hotel rooms or, at the worst, cars. It seemed understandable and helped to depersonalize encounters even more, knowing second to nothing about the men buying his body, being something akin a plastic mannequin without a semblance of any kind of feelings. It was easier that way.

But…There obviously was one exception.

Yuzuru agreed going to the _Spaniard’s_ apartment. It was one of the things Boyang found out right off the bat. Yuzuru slipped his tongue accidentally while being high on his bubbling excitement, averting his gaze at once, as soon as the haphazard admission had left his mouth. Boyang heard Javier being mentioned practically every day ever since and he found it to be _irritating as hell_. He reminded Yuzuru that _that particular_ _Javi_ was nothing more than one of his clients. The Japanese nodded and agreed wholeheartedly, yet a certain _something_ in his eyes was telling Boyang otherwise, for he knew Yuzuru too well.

Boyang sneaked into the subway car, taking an inconspicuous seat at the back and humping his shoulders. He was lulled by the monotone clash of its wheels and his mind started sinking into a more relaxed state, his thoughts travelling back, drifting to the night when he had seen Yuzuru for the first time…

**

Boyang entered the club which was surprisingly packed for a weekday evening. Hard bass beats pummeling his eardrums, making his insides vibrate to the musical bacchanalia around. He saw countless bodies moving as one at the dance floor, wanting to lose themselves to the liberating wild rhythm, their minds obliterated and senses exacerbated under the stroboscopic lights.

Boyang elbowed his way to the bar counter, taking a seat on the only miraculously vacant stool and deeming himself incredibly lucky. It was the best spot to get down to such _work_ _as his_. He ordered himself a _tequila sunrise_ and looked around, estimating possible _targets_. His gaze bumped into a disturbingly young looking boy to his left. Boyang wondered how he was even admitted to the club, in the first place.

Two impossibly obscure exotic eyes were studying him from head to toe without an ounce of diffidence. Boyang smiled at the stranger knowingly, saluting an obvious _colleague_ of his wordlessly, taking in his appearance, noticing that the boy looked nothing short of stunning: his dark sable bangs and fluttering eyelashes in an exquisite contrast to his carmine lush lips, refined cheekbones and chiseled features, making him look like both genders anime lovers’ _wet dream_. His skin looked smooth and pale as a lily petal and he had a graceful swan-like neck, the delicacy of his wrists accentuated by two symmetrical obsidian bracelets.

Boyang noted that the guy definitely had _quite_ a potential in him, yet he found his outfit to be atrocious: the skin-tight black trousers and the deep provoking cut of his loose t-shirt, which was opening an enticing view on his sharply defined collarbones — were fine, but the white fabric adorned with countless tiny fake diamonds and what looked like _feathers_ , for fuck’s sake, was the epitome of tastelessness to Boyang’s eye.

Everything about the boy screamed — _novice_. But Boyang admitted to himself that the guy was a quick learner: the way he sucked at his bottom lip while drinking a vanilla milkshake (the fact, which Boyang found kind of cute), his long fingers playing with the straw languidly, at the bar area full of tones of drunken horny bodies made him stand out. He appeared innocent _beyond belief_ , and Boyang knew how such type of shining _pureness_ could attract all different kinds of rather creepy and twisted individuals who tended to make _the light_ theirs by marring, subjugating and transmogrifying it to satisfy their own perverted whimsies. He commiserated with the young boy to the fullest possible extent of his cynically hardened heart.

Boyang met his gaze directly and the guy smiled charmingly, his pink tongue running over his lower lip in an overtly inviting manner.

“ _Care to take me away from here?_ ”

The quiet entreaty caught Boyang completely off guard and he choked on his cocktail, grenadine syrup tingling in his nostrils. His unbelievably cute _rival_ was actually picking him up rather straight-forwardly and it seemed quite hilarious to Boyang.

“No, thank you, sorry… You are very cute but… You still have much to learn, you see.” The boy’s eyes widened, a sudden realization hitting him and Boyang noticed the way gentle pinkness spread itself all the way up his neck and cheeks. It made Boyang’s will to decline the proposal waver for a split second.

The young man lowered his gaze, some of the cocktail milky foam remaining at the corner of his childishly pouting mouth. Boyang decided that he didn’t mind finding out the guy’s actual name and intended to say that he wasn’t opposed to an idea of a casual _platonic_ acquaintance at all. He didn’t have the time for anything, though.

The fragile looking boy was practically snatched from his seat by two strong arms of a guy twice his size, who encircled his tiny waist from behind unceremoniously. The blonde bloke was shouting, asking loudly in an attempt to outvoice the deafening music:

“Dance with me, pretty little _thing_?”

The next moment both of them were drawn to the epicenter of the dance floor, being swooped by a wave of rhythmically moving bodies around them.

The big guy’s intentions were mighty obvious as he kept on rubbing his crotch against the boy’s firm backside whenever he got the chance, his hands caressing two delicate collarbones, wet breath tainting the vestal skin of the long neck. Boyang was positively sure that the blonde guy’s jeans felt _very_ constricting at that point. But what had really caught his eye was the way the petite boy moved: he had inborn fluidity and grace to each of his movements — the way he threw his head back and swayed his narrow hips, two hands sliding down his lean torso alluringly. It was _pure art_ and Boyang couldn’t help staring because it was simply impossible to tear your eyes away from the endlessly erotic vision he was embodying.

It seemed that the sturdy bloke had won the big jackpot that evening.

Boyang couldn’t explain why his mood had soured so drastically in practically no time. All of a sudden, he felt like leaving right away, not wanting to stay at the club a moment longer. The steamy dancing pair had got out of his sight and he was sincerely thankful for it. Having paid for his beverage, he exited the spacy club hall into a fluorescently lit long corridor, red lamps making everything bask in eerie bloody light. He saw several couples going at it unashamedly, engaged in a heated make-out sessions, grinding against each other, hands groping and roaming greedily.

Boyang saw _him_ again then, as he was walking towards the club doors. _He_ was pressed against one of the walls in the corner, aggressive florid coloring drowning all of his diminutive form, distorting his facial features, sharpening his jawline and making his white sparkly top seem soaked in dark blood. _He_ looked _demonic_ _—_ long fingers digging into his partner’s broad shoulders, delicate neck exposed, tender skin glistening from sweat faintly, his vermillion lips bitten and eyes shut tightly as the blonde was kneeling in front of him, his broad palms holding him in place by the naked hipbones as he was worshipping the youthful _incubus_ with his demanding mouth shamelessly, oblivious to everything around. Boyang watched _ruby_ lips part noiselessly, no moans heard because of the pounding music, yet the whole scene felt surreal _—_ a guilty phantasy, a foul amalgam of carnality which was tinted _red_.

_Corrupted._

Boyang turned away with such force his neck crackled from the impact. He rushed from the club, a sinuous vision not wanting to dissipate itself from his mind eye. He remembered thinking that the blonde guy, as well as all the others that would follow his path, were inevitably doomed, destined to be sucked into _his_ core _—_ _his_ radiance consuming them, for _he_ was like the darkest star that pulls lesser celestial bodies to its orbit, making them burn in its scorching depths only to vanish without a trace.

On the following evening Boyang found himself standing in front of the club doors, his heart beating in his chest excitedly. He went straight to the bar counter, discerning the slim figure he was looking for practically in no time. He had met the attractive young man from the previous night. _He_ was drinking milkshake again and _his_ eyes were twinkling with mischief darkly. They ended up talking animatedly for about an hour, Boyang learning that _his_ name was _Yuzuru_ and that it meant a “pulled bowstring” in Japanese.

_Boyang sensed that he never stood a single chance against an arrow shot._

**

They texted each other on a daily basis and by the end of the week Boyang visited Yuzuru’s rented apartment. It meant a lot because it was a telling indication of a steadily building trust between the two. The Chinese began considering Yuzuru his best friend in the span of a month, the time they were spending in each other’s company increasing. It was impossible not to be attracted to Yuzuru, the ever present contradiction in him making Boyang’s head spin at times. He could be sugary sweet and the next moment _—_ cold and withdrawn; he got offended easily and was unbelievably sensitive, yet there was a degree of purely egocentric distance in him too. Yuzuru was a riddle, a mystery to be solved, and Boyang was looking to its key day after day in the process of their communication.  He wanted to find out more about the Japanese but he noticed that the questions were not much welcomed.

He recalled them sitting together by the city lake on one of a particularly warm autumn evenings, Yuzuru’s unbashful smiles making Boyang feel a bit giddy and bold. He asked Yuzuru about his past then _—_ about the reason he ended up living a life of a prostitute. It didn’t escape Boyang the way the boy’s face sank in an instant, sunshine in his smiling eyes going bleak.

“Have you ever thought of a price you are ready to pay for the sole right of remaining yourself? For the right to stay true to your nature, regardless of what it entails and despite of the consequences… _I am where I am and it is all that matters, really._ ”

The answer sounded extremely _vague_ and Boyang felt thoroughly confused but he knew better than dwelling on the subject of Yuzuru’s past, the Japanese not wanting to disclose himself any further to him yet.

Their relationships had their ups and downs and Boyang considered it to be perfectly normal. They often went to play videogames, arcade ones — Boyang’s speciality while Yuzuru preferred violent first-person shooters. They even went to a skating-rink once. It was situated in one of the shopping-malls and it was crowded all of the time. Boyang was very reluctant at first and Yuzuru had to bring to good use all of his charms to make the Chinese boy agree at last.

“C’mon, _Bo_ , I am not asking you to do fucking _quads_ in there. We are just going to skate, trying to navigate ourselves through the bunch of splayed children. The worst thing you can possibly get is a bruise on your weedy ass! _Please_ …”

Boyang managed to survive Yuzuru’s capricious whining and to bargain an extra-large serving of strawberry milkshake as a compensation for his bruised backside on their way back. The rented skates were far from being comfortable and his ankles felt stiff and unmoving. As a result, he spent most of the time leaning against the boards while watching Yuzuru skate instead. It definitely looked like he knew how to skate, the balance of his body and his immaculate posture were signifying that it wasn’t something entirely new to him. Heck, Yuzuru even knew how to brake with the blades. Boyang was impressed. There was an undeniable elusive grace to the way the Japanese glided across the white surface and  a crazy thought had crossed Boyang’s mind — that, maybe, somewhere in the _parallel universe_ , Yuzuru could have become a truly great skater. Though, truth be told, he kept on ending on his butt more times Boyang could count, his boyish laughter resonating across the rink side, making Boyang snicker in return.

**

One fine day Boyang decided to make a little surprise for Yuzuru. He remembered the spontaneous trip they had made as if it was just yesterday. Oppressive summer heat was making city streets seem strangely deserted, air filled with the scent of melting bitumen as the sun was beating down mercilessly. Boyang rented a motorbike for a day and intended on taking Yuzuru for a ride, leaving city jungles behind them. He bought some Coca-Cola and a bottle of semi-descent whiskey with a couple of chocolate bars and a pack of salty cracker. He spent some of the money from his stash and he wanted that small endeavor of his worth every single penny.

_It certainly did._

Boyang stopped beneath Yuzuru’s windows as the sun started setting, dusk painting streets in warmish gold. Yuzuru hopped on the motorbike behind Boyang, two slim hands snaking around the Chinese’s waist, the boy’s frame huddling to him securely. They drove into the sunset fast, wind playing with their hair gingerly, speed and adrenaline making blood in their veins run faster. They were feeling _alive_ as ever.

Boyang had a certain spot in his mind as their final destination. After a several-hour ride he, finally, stopped the bike at a quiet clearing in the pine woods. A creek was streaming lazily there, its mild purl soothing. Yuzuru fell to his knees to splash some of the fresh water into his heated face, his skin seemingly dusted with aureate sparkles from the rays of the low sun which was trying to reach him through tree trunks that were surrounding them. They didn’t speak much, _something_ palpable, yet at the same time _indistinguishable_ hanging in the air in between. Boyang was making them cocktails which consisted of only two elementary ingredients mixed in different proportions: some cola and some whiskey.

Yuzuru was apparently drunk, after just a half of his first glass, his breathing shallow and his cheeks ablaze, soft giggles escaping him in musical cascades like silver bells. Boyang drank way more and the last thing he remembered before falling into an intoxicated slumber, while lying next to Yuzuru, was the sight of him rolling over the timber carpet, fir-needles in his disheveled hair, head thrown back. Yuzuru’s skin acquired a woody scent and he looked carelessly happy.

_A tempting sylph._

It was already absolutely dark when he woke up, stars twinkling from the clear skies faintly. He sighed, stretching his arms and looking around in search of his companion. Yuzuru was nowhere to be seen and Boyang felt a pang of worry.

“ _Yuzu_?”

He called for him and the next moment he was attacked from behind, hands coming to cover his eyes and moist breath tickling the side of his neck. Boyang’s heart almost leaped out of his chest from unexpectedness.

“Oh God, you are such an _idiot_!”

He turned in his arms, trying to catch Yuzuru and wrestle him down to the ground, while the two of them were laughing like madmen. Boyang ended up lying on his back, Yuzuru’s lean body pressing him into the ground, his face impossibly close, all of a sudden. Boyang’s heartbeat was racing and he thought he could see spiral galaxies swirl inside Yuzuru’s dilated pupils. An illusion of impunity making the special moment they were sharing seem eternal. He knew what was coming and he _craved_ it with all of his being.

Yuzuru was the one to cover the distance between their lips and draw Boyang into a languid kiss which turned into deep and sensual right from the start. The Japanese tasted of sugary cola and dark chocolate, his expert tongue— a wet slide in Boyang’s mouth, exploring and probing, setting Boyang’s alerted senses on fire. He placed his hand at Yuzuru’s nape and responded in an equally passionate manner, his mind buzzing from the aftereffects of alcohol and awakening arousal.

_It seemed way too much for a simple drunken friendly kiss._

The Japanese withdrew first, gasping for air, his mouth obscenely swollen. The momentarily spell was broken. Boyang knew they had crossed the unspoken line which should have never been trespassed and he knew not what to make of it. He laughed, wanting to dispel an awkward silence. At least, they could always blame it on the heat of the moment, their impulsive actions spurred by starlit summer night and heady whiskey.

They didn’t speak a word on their road back and they never addressed the _stolen kiss, which was never meant to be,_ again, as if it had been left behind at the sylvan glade, lost in that spirited August night forever.

_Unnamed and irreversible._

**

Sunk in his reflections, Boyang managed to overshoot his subway station and he had to walk for half an hour to get to his apartment. He was cursing under his breath, legs moving on auto-pilot. He decided that he didn’t want to put an end to his mental _reminiscent_ journey yet, letting his mind wander to a rainy night when he saw Yuzuru in his most abject and wretched state.

He was getting ready for bed in the early hours of the morning when he heard someone knocking at his door, “knocking” being the wrong word to describe the sound of timid _scratching_ against the wooden door surface. Boyang opened it to find Yuzuru standing at his threshold, completely drenched. His black moist hair was clinging to his forehead as he fell to Boyang’s arms with a strangled groan. Yuzuru felt like a rag doll in his supporting embrace, half conscious and limp and incredibly _fragile_. The Chinese noticed him wincing from pain as he laid him down on his bed carefully, starting to take off his soaked clothes.

“What happened, Yuzu? You look fucking _awful_.” Boyang felt a nauseating bile rise at the back of his throat.

Yuzuru’s skin was hot to the touch, small shivers wrecking his body. Boyang took in the whole picture, after having him fully undressed: ugly bruises were blooming on his protruding hipbones, the tender skin of his neck marked by quite a few violent love bites; Boyang saw the telling trails from a rope on his thin wrists and ankles and some traces of dried blood on the inside of his delicate thighs. Yuzuru’s porcelain skin was defiled with several cigarette burns. It looked as a _sacrilege_ and Boyang felt like crying, his chest constricting.

_Pitch-black Dodge Ram pickup-truck with toned windows and chrome wheels._

Boyang’s fingers trembled, as he was applying some healing balm to Yuzuru’s abused body carefully. He practically dragged the Japanese to the local hospital on the following morning, where a sympathetically sighing doctor offered to file a police report, stating “rape” as a crime in it. Yuzuru shook his head stubbornly and asked if he could stay at Boyang’s for the next couple of weeks, till his body would recover.

Yuzuru remained in Boyang’s bed for the next two weeks, as fits of raging fever were torturing him, alternating with a lethargic apathy which flooded his whole body, making him unwilling to move at all. Boyang had no doubt that he would make it through eventually, his fiery spirit and will still present within, even during the hardest of times.

Although, Yuzuru’s soul was _scarred_ , Boyang knew that the seams would cicatrize one day. The Chinese did all he could to make this day come sooner.

Boyang recalled how he made some green tea (with unknown herbs he had obtained from Kikuchi-san) and took it to Yuzuru’s bedside on a Sunday morning. When he entered the tiny bedroom, he saw Yuzuru sitting on the bed, his willowy arms resting on the bedcovers. Boyang gulped and his eyes began to burn as a faint smile graced Yuzuru’s delicate features. He embraced Yuzuru cautiously, inhaling the scent of his hair, a long sigh of _relief_ escaping his quivering lips. Boyang buried his face at the crook of the boy’s neck and whispered softly.

“I would never let anyone hurt you again, you hear me…I’ll fucking _kill_ if someone would. Just promise me that you _will live_. You have to, Yuzu, you have to…”

He heard a quiet sob and a weeping _I promise_ somewhere next to his ear.

Boyang linked their little fingers in a bonding gesture, sensing that the invisible thread between them had never felt more real.  

**

Tiredness made Boyang’s eyelids leaden as he stretched beneath the blanket, feeling completely drained. He tried to shoo the recurring thoughts away, his overexcited brain not wanting to cooperate, supplying him images of one more of Yuzuru’s unexpected visits.

_It looks like a real remembrance rampage or something…_

Rolling his eyes at his disability to control his own mind, Boyang succumbed to his memory once again, his mind eye seeing Yuzuru rushing to his apartment all radiant, his face shining as if lit from within.

He looked _hauntingly beautiful_ and Boyang knew that something extraordinary must have happened. Yuzuru was chippering briskly like a delicate bird. Among other things, he was taking his clothes off shamelessly saying that he needed a quick shower. The only words which Boyang was able to decipher in the unceasing machine-gun monologue were: “mind-blowing”, “fuck” and “Javier”.

_Javier_

Boyang’s shoulders tensed at the mention of an unknown man, who had made Yuzuru literally _glow_.

“Wait, wait…You are telling me that you’ve spent the night with him and that you only left in the morning…”

“Well…Technically speaking — yes. But…”

Boyang was ready to swear that he saw Yuzuru blush.

“Let me guess…You let him kiss you!”

Yuzuru smiled mirthfully, his naked form retreating to Boyang’s bathroom. The Chinese didn’t need to coax a confession out of Yuzuru right away to know that something inside his friend had changed imperceptibly and it had nothing to do with a simple _fuck_ , regardless of how great that particular _fuck_ might have been.

**

Yuzuru texted Boyang while he was having a quick bite at one of the eateries, stuffing his mouth with an enormous hamburger. It was very unlike of the Japanese, who used to sleep well past noon normally.

“ _He is coming. In three days.”_

The sms-message made Boyang lose his appetite in no time. He kept on repeating to himself that it was absolutely _stupid_ and that he had _zero_ rights on Yuzuru, yet it stung like hell. He didn’t want his friend to be fooled with, only to be relegated later, as some kind of a pestered toy, which had lost its initial appeal.

Yuzuru didn’t deserve to be played around by some rich conceited _cretin_ who had a luxurious car.

_Yuzuru couldn’t be bought._

Boyang didn’t find his desire to make Yuzuru stay at his side _selfish_ to any extent — he just wanted to protect him and his personal feelings had nothing to do with the whole threatening situation.

Abandoning his poor half-eaten hamburger on the plate, Boyang decided that he definitely needed to see that _notorious_ Javier with his own eyes.

Hurrying out of the swing-doors he practically bumped into none other than _Johnny W._ himself.

“Hey…Take it easy! What’s eating you, Boyang?”

Boyang had to return to his table again, accompanied by Johnny W.’s incurable dry wit and sarcastic flair — two of his thin eyebrows apparently _living a life of their own,_ whenever he found one of his remarks to be particularly ingenious.

“By the way, have you heard of the latest news..? _Jacque_ was found dead this morning. He hanged himself in his stinky room. Can you imagine it? I’ve never thought that a rope thick enough even existed, in the first place…Unbelievable…”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Boyang’s growl only made Johnny W. huff amusingly.

_Tell him that I think of him still…_

_Please._

**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. All of your feedback is appreciated.


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